


Crying Shame

by ihavetodothis



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 10 years later, 2008, Canon Compliant, F/M, Head Auror Harry Potter, Minister of Magic Hermione, Quidditch Player Ginny Weasley
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-18
Updated: 2015-06-18
Packaged: 2018-04-05 00:44:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4159155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ihavetodothis/pseuds/ihavetodothis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chaos has resurfaced in the wizarding world -- people who were thought to be dead are alive again, but in a much greater state of consciousness than inferi. Some have found out they are able to conjure gold, food, and permanent objects. Hermione knows that, somehow, Lucius Malfoy is involved.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crying Shame

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



> The year is 2008. Hermione is Minister of Magic after ten years of working in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. She has called Luna back temporarily from her travels to lead a new Department for the Welfare of Magical Creatures. Hermione is pregnant with Hugo. James was born in 2003. Ginny is Chaser for the Holyhead Harpies.

           A plague of wet, gloomy days follows the death of Mordris Heronbomb. Thick, grey clouds seem to morph together to create a sky of isolating darkness, holding London, in its mourning, away from the rest of the world. Harry didn’t know Mordris as well as other people in his department did, but he’d been there during the raid that night and had seen his dark eyes lock lifelessly as he fell to the ground under Dolohov’s killing curse.

           Pushing yet another depressing thought of Heronbomb out of his mind, Harry stares down at the slab of paperwork on his desk and groans. Between the ridiculous music drifting in from Bones’ office and his brain, he hasn’t been able to get through one-sixth the amount of work he usually can.

           “ _And, darling, I’ll be the knotgrass to your fluxweed, oh, love will be the only magic we’ll ever need_ ,” a deep, masculine voice sings, setting Harry’s teeth on edge. If he didn’t know any better, he’d storm right up to Bones and take off her Playback Enchantment himself, but Susan had been one of the Aurors closest to Mordris, and last year she’d confided in Harry that music is how she handles stress.

           There’s a picture of his infant daughter, Lily, posted on the wall with a Permanent Sticking Charm, and Harry stares at it emptily, wondering how he’ll ever get this work finished, and whether he should even bother coming into work tomorrow.

            _Besides_ , he thinks, _Ginny will be happier if I stay home and help her with the baby_ …

           When he looks back down at the stack of papers on his desk, determined to get at least a few more of them finished before he leaves for the day, he finds a paper airplane, which must have dropped in while he wasn’t looking.

           He unfolds it and reads, in Hermione’s careful handwriting:

Dear Mr. Potter,

I need you to stop by my office before you leave for the day.

Sincerely, Hermione J.G. Weasley, Minister of Magic, Supreme Mugwump, Order of Merlin, First Class

           Harry chuckles quietly as he reads the letter, amused by the unnecessary formality of it; he’s still not used to seeing the title “Minister of Magic” next to Hermione’s name, although he’s definitely chuffed that she managed the position. He just never thought she’d be interested in having that much power.

           Using the note as an excuse to stop trying to work, he taps it with his wand and watches as it bursts into flame, curling in on itself before turning into a tiny pile of ashes on his desk. Then, as an afterthought, he points his wand at the pile and mutters, “ _Evanesco_ ,” causing it to vanish. After seventeen years, Harry still finds it exhilarating to be a wizard.

           “Hermione just called me ‘Mr. Potter’. Should I be concerned?,” Harry says when he gets to Ron’s desk, grinning. Ron turns around to face him with a grin of his own, and the flies he had been making dance on top of his Auror Handbook take off immediately.

           “Did she really? She’ll be calling me ‘Mr. Weasley’, soon, I ‘spose. Let’s just hope she doesn’t do it at home so Rose doesn’t learn it.”

           Harry puts a hand on the back of Ron’s chair and chuckles as the latter gets up and puts his sweater on.

           “Where are you off to?” Harry asks, wishing he could leave, too.

           “Home. My work’s all done and Mum says Rose is getting ready for bed.”

           “Oh. I’ll walk you to the Floo, then. Hermione’s office is right there, anyway.”

           They walk to the elevator in silence. Once they’re inside, Ron tells the ethereal, feminine voice where they need to go and they ascend.

           “We’re getting to be quite rich, now Hermione’s Minister.”

           “So I’ve heard. I saw Rose with that _Apollo Two_...Please tell me it’s yours.”

           “Of course it’s mine! She’s too small to carry it, let alone ride it.”

           “I got James an _Apollo Junior_ to ride around on. Maybe he’ll try out for Quidditch when he gets to Hogwarts.”

           “I hate to think of Rose getting old enough to go off to school...nine years is a long time, though. And who knows? Maybe she’ll turn out to be a squib.”

           “After the fiasco at Christmas last year? I don’t think so.”

           “Good point.”

           When they reach the large, black marble door that is Hermione’s office, Harry waves goodbye to Ron and knocks three times before standing back and waiting for the door to open. Hermione emerges with her hair sticking up at odd angles (which is usual) and her eyes wide, as if she’s just come face to face with a Chimaera. Silently, she conjures a plush armchair for him with an absent-minded flick of her wand and sits behind her desk, looking very serious.

           “Is everything all right?” Harry asks. Hermione opens her mouth to answer, but before she can, a short, stocky man with a Stalin-esque moustache bursts into the room.

           “M-Minister, the...Muggle Prime...Minister has...requested a meeting...with you,” he announces between heavy breaths, sweat glistening like raindrops over his eyebrows.

           Hermione stands up, her hands flat on her desk and eyes even wider than before.

           “Is it urgent? I’m having another meeting right now--”

           “Sorry, Minister. It can’t wait. He says there’s...been another accident...a hundred muggles dead…”

           Hermione swallows and looks down at the man gravely.

           “All right, Bogswatch, thank you. Have someone open the Floo and tell him I’ll be there as soon as possible.”

           “Yes, Minister.”

           Bogswatch turns around and runs back out the door, leaving Harry confused and alarmed.

           “What -- a hundred muggles dead? What’s going on?”

           “I’m so sorry, Harry, but we’ll need to reschedule for tomorrow. Come to my office as soon as possible in the morning, before you do anything else. I’ve got to go.”

           “But, Hermione, what’s happen--”

           His sentence is cut off by the hasty slam of a door as Hermione runs out of her office, leaving him alone, blinking rapidly in thought.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

           When he gets home, he finds a familiar, stringy mop of dirty-blond hair sticking up from the couch and smiles.

           “Neville?” Harry calls, moving over to the couch and realizing that Neville’s completely passed out, mouth open slightly and arm draped onto the floor. He moves closer and prods Neville’s shoulder, jumping backward when Neville snorts and jolts awake very suddenly.

           “Whuh...oh! Hiya, Harry!”

           “Sorry it’s so late. I thought Ginny would be back before me.”

           “It’s no problem! I didn’t mean to fall asleep...I was just lying down, looking at that big black thingy...what’s it called again?”

           “A television. I can show you how to turn it on sometime, if you want.”

           “Sure, okay. Is Ginny here, then, or is it just you?”

           “Just me. You should go home and get some sleep. I really can’t thank you enough for looking after the kids again.”

           Neville sits up, clicks his tongue, and makes a hand gesture that looks as if he’s slapping the air.

           “Don’t worry about it. I know you’d do the same.”

           Smiling and yawning, he gets up and walks over to his shoes, which are sitting neatly by the door.

           “Well, I’ll be seeing you, Harry! Give Ginny my...well, just say hello for me. Goodnight,”

           “I will. ‘Night, Neville.”

           Only a few minutes after Neville has gone, Ginny walks through the door, looking exhausted. Harry hurries over to her and grabs the broom and bag of heavy equipment slung over her shoulder.

           “Are you all right?”

           “Yeah, I’m fine. Just tired.”

           She gives Harry a kiss then toes off her shoes before heading straight to the shower. Harry frowns, knowing her muscles must be sore if her first thought is of hot water. Realizing he forgot to take his own shoes off, he does so, then heads down a hallway toward James’ room.

           Careful not to make any noise, he inches the door open and sees only the back of James’ head, his light brown hair barely visible over a thick, black blanket with moving designs that look like stars and planets -- a gift from Hermione after James showed an interest in Astronomy.

           Just as he’s on his way to check on Albus, an ear-splitting cry rings through the house and he winces, stopping in his tracks to run upstairs toward Lily’s crib.

           “Shhh, shhh...it’s okay. C’mere. Everything’s fine. Shhh. What’s wrong with you? Are you hungry?”

           He takes the baby into his arms and bounces it a little, cradling her head in the crook of his elbow.

           “Shhh...everything’s okay. _Merlin_ , I wish you could just talk already.”

           After a few minutes of being rocked and bounced and spoken to in soft voice, Lily stops crying and looks up at Harry, her honey-colored eyes half-lidded.

           “Bubba...mubby bub, bub, bub…” the baby mumbles, her mouth open curiously as she looks around the room.

           “Mummy? You want Mummy? Are you hungry?”

           “Bubby mub. Mub a bub, bub, bub…”

           Harry groans and continues bouncing the baby in his arms as he walks across the room and finds Ginny coming up the stairs.

           “What’s the matter? Is Lily all right?”

           “She’s fine. I think she might be hungry. Where’s her bottle?”

           Ginny sighs when she gets closer to them and holds her arms out for the baby. Harry places her in Ginny’s arms and stands back to watch her play with Ginny’s wet, tangled hair.

           “I’m not sure. Just summon it, it’s around here somewhere.”

           “ _Accio bottle_.”

           A small, clear plastic bottle with a grey rubber top comes zooming into his hand and he shakes it, the white liquid inside forming clusters of clear bubbles.

           “Think it’s enough?”

           “She might not even be hungry.”

           Ginny takes the bottle from him and brings it to Lily’s mouth, which eagerly attaches to it as she downs the rest of its contents.

           “Should I go get some more?” Harry asks as he bends over the baby. Her tiny fingers grab the air in front of her, and Harry offers her his pinky, which she holds onto immediately.

           “No, she should be okay. I’m going to sleep. Can you put her back in her crib?”

           “I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

           As soon as Ginny gives Lily back to Harry, the baby starts squirming and shuts her eyes tightly, as if preparing to cry again.

           “Mubba! Mubby! Mub...ooga!” she squeals, and Ginny gives her a little wave before turning and heading toward the stairs. Thankfully, the baby doesn’t start crying again, but keeps squirming and making odd sputtering noises as Harry puts her back in her crib.

           “Goodnight, Lily,” he whispers, bending over the side of the crib to give her a kiss on the forehead.

           

       

 

           Harry goes straight to his and Ginny’s bedroom, eyes stinging with fatigue. Having just changed into her night clothes when he enters the room, Ginny turns off the light and flops down onto the bed, her hair falling like brilliant red ribbons over the white pillows. He goes into their bathroom, changes into a pair of pajama pants, then lies down on the other side of the bed. The moon is full and bright, sending beams of soft yellow light over her cheekbones and eyes so that she glows, even in the darkness. Harry smiles tenderly and reaches a hand out to her, moving it down her back and across her shoulders, feeling his fingernails graze over her silky nightgown.

           “We’ll miss you,” he whispers, edging closer to her. Ginny lifts her eyelids carefully, revealing shimmery orbs of golden brown.

           “I’m only going to be gone two weeks...it’s not like you haven’t been away before. Remember Finch-Fletchley?” Harry grunts in response and closes his eyes, exhaustion starting to build up in his calves, spreading ominously throughout his body. “And James was sick, and you were all the way in Germany…”

           “I know…I was going to take the time off. I think Hermione’s got something big for me, though. Blimey, Gin, it’s only been a _month_ and she already looks overworked.”

           “She’ll be fine. She’s tough. Nothing’s ever been too much for her, and I don't think anything ever will.”

           Harry opens his eyes again and moves his hand to Ginny’s face, rubbing the pad of his thumb in a line across her cheek and leaning in for a chaste kiss. They disconnect with a quiet smacking noise and Ginny lets her head fall onto Harry’s shoulder. He moves his fingers to her hair and nonchalantly strokes her like he would an animal, staring at the wall behind her now. Ginny sighs and becomes limp against him, her arm draped lazily over Harry’s waist.

           “I’m quitting the team,” she mumbles, leaning back a little to study Harry’s face, looking for a reaction. Harry raises his eyebrows.

           “Why?”

           “The kids need me more than the Harpies do. They can find another Chaser. James, Albus, and Lily can’t find another mum. I should be here with them, cooking, playing with them...teaching them.”

           Harry’s heart aches with affection as he squeezes Ginny’s arm.

           “You’re not going to miss playing? I won’t be able to brag about my famous wife anymore.” Ginny snorts and grins, pushing Harry away from her playfully. “Really, though. You don’t have to quit if you don’t want to. I can take more time off work, or--”

           “No, I want to. I’ve had my fun. I’ve got more important things in my life right now. The kids are my everything; they make me much happier than a stupid sport does.”

           “Quidditch is _not_ a stupid sport.”

           “I knew you’d say that.” Ginny rolls her eyes and they both grin while Harry wraps the edge of the blanket under his feet. “So. Any thoughts?”

           “I think it’s a fantastic idea. I’ll do whatever I can to make it easier on you. I can bring the older ones with me to the Ministry sometimes, if you need a break.”

           “Albus would love that. He’s been pestering me about it nonstop…” Ginny trails off with a yawn and closes her eyes again. “Let’s talk about it tomorrow. I’m zonked.”

           “Me, too. Goodnight.”

           “Goodnight.”

           As Harry’s vision becomes black, he feels his whole body relax into the mattress, as if thanking him for finally giving into sleep.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

           Before the sun has time to rise, Harry wakes up and tosses aside a huge, puffy comforter, instantly tensing up at the icy chill that attacks his bare chest. He takes his fuzzy black bathrobe from the bedside table and wraps it around himself, making a small noise of contentment at the back of his throat. Ginny is fast asleep, turned away from him, and he yawns before going out into the kitchen to make himself some coffee.

           Another yawn clouds his vision as he moves his wrist methodically, conjuring a filter, charming the bag of coffee to open itself and spill its contents into the filter, then muttering, " _Aguamenti Calidus_ " and seeing hot, steamy water pour from the end of his wand.

           "Good morning, Daddy," a high-pitched, but very tired voice says behind him. Harry smiles and turns around to see Albus, in his furry green pajama pants decorated with golden snitches, staring up at him with droopy eyelids.

           "Why are you up so early?" he asks Albus, bending low to scoop the child into his arms as he finishes making his coffee. Albus loops his hands around the back of Harry's neck and watches excitedly as Harry swirls his cream into a broomstick shape that flies in a circle around the rim of the mug.

           "I really, _really_ wanna come to work with you. Can I? Please?"

           Harry laughs quietly and readjusts Albus, thinking about how heavy he’s gotten in the past few months.

           “Oh yeah? I don’t think you’d have much fun.”

           “Yes I would! Uncle Ron would be there...and Hermione! James says he’s been loads of times, why can’t I go?”

           “James is full of Doxy droppings. He’s only been with me once and he asked to go home every five minutes.”

           There’s a pause and Albus slumps defeatedly in his arms. When he talks again, his voice is quiet with hurt.

           “He did?” Harry nods and brings the mug to his lips, taking a generous gulp and grimacing when he realizes he forgot the sugar. “Urgh, he _always_ lies! Why can’t he just tell me the _truth_! I don’t lie to him...”

           “I’ll have a talk with him when I come home today, okay, Al? You should go get some sleep. Mum wants to take you and James out on your brooms.”

           “But I don’t have a broom!”

           “Well, we’ll just have to get you one, then, won’t we?”

           Albus’ startlingly bright green eyes widen and he squeals with delight, a sound that fills the entire house like a bomb that’s gone off.

           “Shhh! Albus, you can’t do that when everyone is asleep.”

           Harry lowers Albus to the floor again and gives him a reprimanding look, although he knows he can’t be too strict about it. Albus has always been the quiet one.

           “Get back to bed, all right? I’ll see you when I get home.”

           “Okay, sorry, Daddy!”

           “That’s okay. Just be more careful next time.”

           “I will! I love you.”

           “Love you, too, Al.”

           As Harry finishes his coffee, now murky with two spoons of sugar and plenty of cream, Albus scurries off to his room.

          _Time for a long day at work_ , Harry tells himself, and only a minute later, he’s being compressed on all sides by the familiar discomforts of apparition, landing harshly on two feet in front of the grimy brick alleyway that conceals the Ministry of Magic.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

           “Harry! Quickly, come in. We don’t have much time,” Hermione greets, tugging him over to her desk and pushing him into a chair. “I’m sorry about yesterday, I know you must have gotten home late...the Ministry’s been awful, just _awful_. That was my second meeting with the Prime Minister this _week_! But, nevermind that. Let’s get right to your task -- er, mission, whatever you want to call it.”

           “My mission? I’ve been doing nothing but paperwork for five --”

           “Your _new_ mission, I should say...is one of the more difficult I’ve assigned this year, if not the most. And it needs to be done today, immediately. Or at least... _attempted_ , immediately.”

           She pushes a beige file folder toward him and bites her lip, something she only does when she’s worried how someone will react to something. Harry opens the folder and finds the disappointment of new Mission paperwork.

            _Great. More things to sign…_

           “So, let me guess. Dark wizard? Batty cult leader? What haven’t we had so far?”

           “No, none of that. Not today, anyway. You’re only going to his house to offer him a position in your department.”

           “He? Who’s ‘he’?”

           “Draco Malfoy.”

           Harry blinks, wondering if he heard Hermione correctly.

           “I’m sorry?”

           “You’re going to ask Draco Malfoy to be an Auror.”

           The realization of Hermione’s words takes a few seconds to settle in, but when it does, Harry snickers.

           “I’m _serious_ , Harry.”

           “Really? It's pretty difficult to tell when you're using, 'Malfoy' and 'Auror' in the same sentence…”

           “This isn’t a joke!” Her mouth hangs open indignantly, a frizzy curl falling out of her bun and onto her forehead. The deep purple circles under her eyes make Harry’s stomach lurch with guilt, and he stops laughing immediately.

           “Hermione, look. Even if he _weren’t_ a former Death Eater, he’s a piss-poor wizard and a pompous git. I would never even _consider_ hiring someone like him. I mean...let’s be reasonable here. Do you think he’d actually want to fight the people he sided with during the war? He might not be torturing people for Voldemort anymore, but that doesn’t mean he’s suddenly decided to get down on his knees and shove his nose up the Ministry’s arse.”

           “The Ministry is well aware of Malfoy’s past. The Death Eater trials after the war were not easily forgotten.”

           “Well, if I’m not offering based on talent, then what’s _really_ going on?” 

           Hermione shifts in her seat again and resumes chewing her lip, as if she’s struggling with what she should tell Harry as a friend, and what she should tell him as a subordinate.

           “Is it Lucius?” Harry guesses, and Hermione sighs in resignation, nodding. “But, how? Lucius hasn’t been seen for ten years; why would he decide to come back now?”

           “Yes, it’s odd, isn’t it? Toward the end of the war, he didn’t seem to care about anything but his son, but now….” She stops abruptly, giving Harry a look of sympathy that means she’s not allowed to say anything more on the subject until later, or so Harry hopes. “The point is we need him on our side. Like you said, we’re not exactly hiring him for his ability.”

           “So, you want to use him.”

           “When you say it like that!”

           “I’m not ‘saying it like’ anything. That’s _exactly_ what you’re doing, and you know it.”

           Hermione knits her eyebrows and looks as if she’s about to say something more, but snaps her mouth shut and gives Harry a pained look.

           “Harry, I hate it too, but... _we don’t have a choice_ ,” she says just above a whisper, her eyes wide and verging on frantic. Harry swallows and takes the folder into his hands, smoothing his thumb over the edge of it just softly enough not to let it slice into his skin. Frowning, he gets up from his chair and walks toward the front door, but stops inches away from it.

           “He’s never going to agree. Not unless he can get something out of it. That’s just how he is.”

           The dim, orange bulbs hanging from the ceiling of the office cast tiny strips of light across the copper doorknob that look like fire, and Harry reaches forward to cover it with his hand.

           “I’m sure you’ll think of something.”


End file.
